A  WOMAN'S  WARTIME 
JOURNAL 


A  WOMAN'S  WARTIME 
JOURNAL 


AN  ACCOUNT  OF  THE  PASSAGE  OVER  A  GEORGIA 

PLANTATION  OF  SHERMAN'S  ARMY  ON  THE 

MARCH  TO  THE  SEA,  AS  RECORDED 

IN  THE  DIARY  OF 


DOLLY  SUMNER  LUNT 

(Mrs.  Thomas  Burge) 


With  an  Introduction  and  Notes  by 
JULIAN  STREET 


NEW  YORK 

THE  CENTURY  CO. 

1918 


Copyright,  1918,  by 
THE  CENTURY  Co. 


E 


INTRODUCTION 

Though  Southern  rural  life  has  nec 
essarily  changed  since  the  Civil  War,  I 
doubt  that  there  is  in  the  entire  South  a 
place  where  it  has  changed  less  than  on 
the  Burge  Plantation,  near  Covington, 
Georgia.  And  I  do  not  know  in  the 
whole  country  a  place  that  I  should 
rather  see  again  in  springtime — the 
Georgia  springtime,  when  the  air  is  like 
a  tonic  vapor  distilled  from  the  earth, 
from  pine  trees,  tulip  trees,  balm-of- 
Gilead  trees  (or  "bam"  trees,  as  the 
negroes  call  them),  blossoming  Judas 
trees,  Georgia  crab-apple,  dogwood 
pink  and  white,  peach  blossom,  wistaria, 


Introduction 

sweet-shrub,  dog  violets,  pansy  violets, 
Cherokee  roses,  wild  honeysuckle, 
azalia,  and  the  evanescent  green  of  new 
treetops,  all  carried  in  solution  in  the 
sunlight. 

It  is  indicative  of  the  fidelity  of  the 
plantation  to  its  old  traditions  that 
though  more  than  threescore  springs 
have  come  and  gone  since  Sherman  and 
his  army  crossed  the  red  cottonfields 
surrounding  the  plantation  house,  and 
though  the  Burge  family  name  died  out, 
many  years  ago,  with  Mrs.  Thomas 
Burge,  a  portion  of  whose  wartime 
journal  makes  up  the  body  of  this  book, 
the  place  continues  to  be  known  by  her 
name  and  her  husband's,  as  it  was  when 
they  resided  there  before  the  Civil  War. 
Some  of  the  negroes  mentioned  in  the 
journal  still  live  in  cabins  on  the  planta 
tion,  and  almost  all  the  younger  gen- 
vi 


Introduction 

eration  are  the  children  or  grandchildren 
of  Mrs.  Surge's  former  slaves. 

Mrs.  Burge  (Dolly  Sumner  Lunt) 
was  born  September  29,  1817,  in  Bow- 
doinham,  Maine.  That  she  was  brought 
up  in  New  England,  in  the  heart  of  the 
abolitionist  movement,  and  that  she  was 
a  relative  of  Charles  Sumner,  consistent 
foe  of  the  South,  lends  peculiar  interest 
to  the  sentiments  on  slavery  expressed 
in  her  journal.  As  a  young  woman 
she  moved  from  Maine  to  Georgia, 
where  her  married  sister  was  already 
settled.  While  teaching  school  in  Cov- 
ington  she  met  Thomas  Burge,  a  plan 
tation-owner  and  gentleman  of  the  Old 
South,  and  presently  married  him. 
When  some  years  later  Mr.  Burge  died, 
Mrs.  Burge  was  left  on  the  plantation 
with  her  little  daughter  Sarah  (the 
"Sadai"  of  the  journal)  and  her  slaves, 
vii 


Introduction 

numbering  about  one  hundred.  Less 
than  three  years  after  she  was  widowed 
the  Civil  War  broke  out,  and  in  1864 
this  cultivated  and  charming  woman 
saw  Sherman's  army  pass  across  her 
fields  on  the  March  to  the  Sea. 

At  the  time  of  my  visit  to  the  planta 
tion  the  world  was  aghast  over  the  Ger 
man  invasion  of  Belgium,  the  horrors 
of  which  had  but  recently  been  fully  re 
vealed  and  confirmed.  .  .  .  What,  then, 
I  began  to  wonder,  must  life  have  been 
in  this  part  of  Georgia,  when  Sherman's 
men  came  by  ?  What  must  it  have  been 
to  the  woman  and  the  little  girl  living  on 
these  acres,  in  this  very  house?  For 
though  Germany's  assault  was  upon  an 
unoffending  neutral  state  and  was  the 
commencement  of  a  base  war,  whereas 
Sherman's  March  through  Georgia  was 
an  invasion  of  what  was  then  the  en- 
viii 


Introduction 

emy's  country  for  the  purpose  of 
"breaking  the  back"  of  that  enemy  and 
thus  terminating  the  war,  nevertheless 
"military  necessity"  was  the  excuse  in 
either  case  for  a  campaign  of  deliberate 
destruction — which,  in  the  State  of 
Georgia,  was  measured  by  Sherman 
himself  at  one  hundred  millions. 

When,  therefore,  I  learned  that  Mrs. 
Burge  had  kept  a  journal  in  which  were 
related  her  experiences  throughout  this 
period,  I  became  eager  to  see  it;  and  I 
am  sure  the  reader  will  agree  that  I  did 
him  a  good  turn  when,  after  perusing 
the  journal,  I  begged  its  author's  grand 
daughters — Mrs.  M.  J.  Morehouse  of 
Evanston,  Ills.,  and  Mrs.  Louis  Bol- 
ton  of  Detroit,  Mich.,  my  hostesses  at 
the  plantation — that  they  permit  it  to 
be  published. 

Their  consent  having  graciously  been 
ix 


Introduction 

given,  I  can  only  wish  that  the  reader 
might  sit,  as  I  did,  perusing  the  story 
in  the  very  house,  in  the  very  room,  in 
which  it  was  written.  I  wish  he  might 
turn  the  yellow  pages  with  me,  and  read 
for  himself  of  events  which  seem,  some 
how,  more  vivid  for  the  fact  that  the  ink 
is  faded  brown  with  time.  And  I  wish 
that  when  the  journal  tells  of  "bluecoats 
coming  down  the  road"  the  reader  might 
glance  up  and  out  through  the  open 
window,  as  I  did,  and  see  the  very  road 
down  which  they  came. 

Imagine  yourself  in  a  low  white  house 
standing  in  a  grove  of  gigantic  oaks 
surrounded  by  the  cottonfields.  Im 
agine  yourself  in  a  large  comfortable 
room  in  this  house,  in  an  old  rocking 
chair  by  the  window.  From  the  win 
dow  you  may  see  the  white  well-house, 
its  roof  mottled  with  the  shadows  of 


Introduction 

branches  above ;  beyond,  the  garden  and 
the  road,  and  far  away  in  the  red  fields 
negroes  and  mules  at  work.  Then  look 
down  at  the  large  book  resting  in  your 
lap  and  read. 

JULIAN  STREET. 
New  York, 
MARCH,  1918. 


XI 


A  WOMAN'S  WARTIME 
JOURNAL 


A  WOMAN'S  WARTIME 
JOURNAL 

JANUARY  1,  1864. 
A  new  year  is  ushered  in,  but  peace 
comes  not  with  it.  Scarcely  a  family 
but  has  given  some  of  its  members  to 
the  bloody  war  that  is  still  decimating 
our  nation.  Oh,  that  its  ravages  may 
soon  be  stopped!  Will  another  year 
find  us  among  carnage  and  bloodshed? 
Shall  we  be  a  nation  or  shall  we  be  an 
nihilated?  .  .  .  The  prices  of  every 
thing  are  very  high.  Corn  seven  dol 
lars  a  bushel,  calico  ten  dollars  a  yard, 
salt  sixty  dollars  a  hundred,  cotton  from 
sixty  to  eighty  cents  a  pound,  every 
thing  in  like  ratio. 

3 


A  Woman's  Wartime  Journal 

slave]  hide  a  bit  of  soap  under  some 
bricks,  that  mama  might  have  a  little 
left.  Then  she  came  to  me  with  a  part 
of  a  loaf  of  bread,  asking  if  she  had  not 
better  put  it  in  her  pocket,  that  we 
might  have  something  to  eat  that  night. 
And,  verily,  we  had  cause  to  fear  that 
we  might  be  homeless,  for  on  every  side 
we  could  see  smoke  arising  from  burn 
ing  buildings  and  bridges. 

Major  Ansley,  who  was  wounded  in 
the  hip  in  the  battle  of  Missionary 
Ridge,  and  has  not  recovered,  came  with 
his  wife,  sister,  two  little  ones,  and  serv 
ants.  He  was  traveling  in  a  bed  in  a 
small  wagon.  They  had  thought  to  get 
to  Eatonton,  but  he  was  so  wearied  that 
they  stopped  with  me  for  the  night.  I 
am  glad  to  have  them.  I  shall  sleep 
none  to-night.  The  woods  are  full  of 
refugees. 

6 


A  Woman's  Wartime  Journal 

JULY  23,  1864. 

I  have  been  left  in  my  home  all  day 
with  no  one  but  Sadai.  Have  seen 
nothing  of  the  raiders,  though  this  morn 
ing  they  burned  the  buildings  around 
the  depot  at  the  Circle  [Social  Circle,  a 
near-by  town].  I  have  sat  here  in  the 
porch  nearly  all  day,  and  hailed  every 
one  that  passed  for  news.  Just  as  the 
sun  set  here  Major  Ansley  and  family 
came  back.  They  heard  of  the  enemy 
all  about  and  concluded  they  were  as 
safe  here  as  anywhere.  Just  before 
bedtime  John,  our  boy,  came  from  Cov- 
ington  with  word  that  the  Yankees  had 
left.  Wheeler's  men  were  in  Coving- 
ton  and  going  in  pursuit.  We  slept 
sweetly  and  felt  safe. 

*     *     * 
SUNDAY,  JULY  24,  1864. 

No    church.     Our    preacher's    horse 
7 


A  Woman's  Wartime  Journal 


stolen  by  the  Yankees.  This  raid  is 
headed  by  Guerrard  and  is  for  the  pur 
pose  of  destroying  our  railroads.  They 
cruelly  shot  a  George  Daniel  and  a  Mr. 
Jones  of  Covington,  destroyed  a  great 
deal  of  private  property,  and  took  many 
citizens  prisoners. 

*  *     * 

JULY  27,  1864. 

Major  Ansley  and  family  have  re 
mained.  We  are  feeling  more  settled 
and  have  begun  to  bring  to  light  some 
of  the  things  which  we  had  put  away. 

*  *     * 

JULY  28,  1864. 

I  rose  early  and  had  the  boys  plow 
the  turnip-patch.  We  were  just  rising 
from  breakfast  when  Ben  Glass  rode  up 
with  the  cry:  "The  Yankees  are  com 
ing.  Mrs.  Burge,  hide  your  mules!" 
8 


A  Woman's  Wartime  Journal 

How  we  were  startled  and  how  we  hur 
ried  the  Ma j  or  to  his  room !  [  The  Yan 
kees  did  not  come  that  day,  but  it  was 
thought  best  to  send  Major  Ansley 
away.  He  left  at  2  A.  M.] 

#     #     * 

JULY  29,  1864. 

Sleepless  nights.  The  report  is  that 
the  Yankees  have  left  Covington  for 
Macon,  headed  by  Stoneman,  to  release 
prisoners  held  there.  They  robbed 
every  house  on  the  road  of  its  pro 
visions,  sometimes  taking  every  piece  of 
meat,  blankets  and  wearing  apparel, 
silver  and  arms  of  every  description. 
They  would  take  silk  dresses  and  put 
them  under  their  saddles,  and  many 
other  things  for  which  they  had  no  use. 
Is  this  the  way  to  make  us  love  them 
and  their  Union?  Let  the  poor  people 
9 


A  Woman's  Wartime  Journal 

answer  whom  they  have  deprived  of 
every  mouthful  of  meat  and  of  their 
livestock  to  make  any!  Our  mills,  too, 
they  have  burned,  destroying  an  im 
mense  amount  of  property. 


AUGUST  2,  1864. 

Just  as  I  got  out  of  bed  this  morning 
Aunt  Julia  [a  slave]  called  me  to  look 
down  the  road  and  see  the  soldiers.  I 
peeped  through  the  blinds,  and  there 
they  were,  sure  enough,  the  Yankees  — 
the  blue  coats! 

I  was  not  dressed.  The  servant 
women  came  running  in.  "Mistress, 
they  are  coming!  They  are  coming! 
They  are  riding  into  the  lot  !  There  are 
two  coming  up  the  steps  !" 

I  bade  Rachel  [a  slave]  fasten  my 
room  door  and  go  to  the  front  door  and 
10 


A  Woman's  Wartime  Journal 

ask  them  what  they  wanted.  They  did 
not  wait  for  that,  but  came  in  and  asked 
why  my  door  was  fastened.  She  told 
them  that  the  white  folks  were  not  up. 
They  said  they  wanted  breakfast,  and 
that  quick,  too. 

"Thug"  [short  for  "Sugar,"  the  nick 
name  of  a  little  girl,  Minnie  Minerva 
Glass,  now  Mrs.  Joe  Carey  Murphy  of 
Charlotte,  North  Carolina,  who  had 
come  to  pass  the  night  with  Sadai]  and 
Sadai,  as  well  as  myself,  were  greatly 
alarmed.  As  soon  as  I  could  get  on 
my  clothing  I  hastened  to  the  kitchen 
to  hurry  up  breakfast.  Six  of  them 
were  there  talking  with  my  women. 
They  asked  about  our  soldiers  and,  pass 
ing  themselves  off  as  Wheeler's  men, 
said: 

"Have  you  seen  any  of  our  men  go 
by?" 

11 


A  Woman's  Wartime  Journal 

"Several  of  Wheeler's  men  passed 
last  evening.  Who  are  you?"  said  I. 

"We  are  a  portion  of  Wheeler's 
men,"  said  one. 

"You  look  like  Yankees,"  said  I. 

"Yes,"  said  one,  stepping  up  to  me; 
"we  are  Yankees.  Did  you  ever  see 
one  before?" 

"Not  for  a  long  time,"  I  replied,  "and 
none  such  as  you."  [Thejse  men,  Mrs. 
Burge  says  further,  were  raiders,  Illi 
nois  and  Kentucky  men  of  German  or 
igin.  They  left  after  breakfast,  taking 
three  of  her  best  mules,  but  doing  no 
further  injury.] 

To-night  Captain  Smith  of  an  Ala 
bama  regiment,  and  a  squad  of  twenty 
men,  are  camped  opposite  in  the  field. 
They  have  all  supped  with  me,  and  I 
shall  breakfast  with  them.  We  have 
spent  a  pleasant  evening  with  music  and 
12 


A  Woman's  Wartime  Journal 


talk.     They  have  a  prisoner  along.     I 
can't  help  feeling  sorry  for  him. 


AUGUST  5,  1864. 

Mr.  Ward  has  been  robbed  by  the 
Yankees  of  his  watch,  pencil,  and  shirt. 


NOVEMBER  8,  1864. 
To-day  will  probably  decide  the  fate 
of  the  Confederacy.  If  Lincoln  is  re- 
elected  I  think  our  fate  is  a  hard  one, 
but  we  are  in  the  hands  of  a  merciful 
God,  and  if  He  sees  that  we  are  in  the 
wrong,  I  trust  that  He  will  show  it  unto 
us.  I  have  never  felt  that  slavery  was 
altogether  right,  for  it  is  abused  by  men, 
and  I  have  often  heard  Mr.  Burge  say 
that  if  he  could  see  that  it  was  sinful  for 
him  to  own  slaves,  if  he  felt  that  it  was 
13 


A  Woman's  Wartime  Journal 


wrong,  he  would  take  them  where  he 
could  free  them.  He  would  not  sin  for 
his  right  hand.  The  purest  and  holiest 
men  have  owned  them,  and  I  can  see 
nothing  in  the  scriptures  which  forbids 
it.  I  have  never  bought  or  sold  slaves 
and  I  have  tried  to  make  life  easy  and 
pleasant  to  those  that  have  been  be 
queathed  me  by  the  dead.  I  have  never 
ceased  to  work.  Many  a  Northern 
housekeeper  has  a  much  easier  time  than 
a  Southern  matron  with  her  hundred 
negroes. 


NOVEMBER  12,  1864. 
Warped  and  put  in  dresses  for  the 
loom.     Oh,  this  blockade  gives  us  work 
to  do  for  all  hands ! 


A  Woman's  Wartime  Journal 

NOVEMBER  15,  1864. 
Went  up  to  Covington  to-day  to  pay 
the  Confederate  tax.  Did  not  find  the 
commissioners.  Mid  [a  slave]  drove 
me  with  Beck  and  the  buggy.  Got 
home  about  three  o'clock.  How  very 
different  is  Covington  from  what  it  used 
to  be !  And  how  little  did  they  who  tore 
down  the  old  flag  and  raised  the  new 
realize  the  results  that  have  ensued ! 


NOVEMBER  16,  1864. 
As  I  could  not  obtain  in  Covington 
what  I  went  for  in  the  way  of  dye  stuffs, 
etc.,  I  concluded  this  morning,  in  ac 
cordance  with  Mrs.  Ward's  wish,  to  go 
to  the  Circle.     We  took  Old  Dutch  and 
had  a  pleasant  ride  as  it  was  a  delight 
ful  day,  but  how  dreary  looks  the  town ! 
Where   formerly   all   was   bustle   and 
15 


A  Woman's  Wartime  Journal 

business,  now  naked  chimneys  and  bare 
walls,  for  the  depot  and  surroundings 
were  all  burned  by  last  summer's 
raiders.  Engaged  to  sell  some  bacon 
and  potatoes.  Obtained  my  dye 
stuffs.  Paid  seven  dollars  [Confeder 
ate  money]  a  pound  for  coffee,  six  dol 
lars  an  ounce  for  indigo,  twenty  dollars 
for  a  quire  of  paper,  five  dollars  for  ten 
cents'  worth  of  flax  thread,  six  dollars 
for  pins,  and  forty  dollars  for  a  bunch 
of  factory  thread. 

On  our  way  home  we  met  Brother 
Evans  accompanied  by  John  Hinton, 
who  inquired  if  we  had  heard  that  the 
Yankees  were  coming.  He  said  that  a 
large  force  was  at  Stockbridge,  that  the 
Home  Guard  was  called  out,  and  that  it 
was  reported  that  the  Yankees  were  on 
their  way  to  Savannah.  We  rode  home 
chatting  about  it  and  finally  settled  it  in 
16 


A  Woman's  Wartime  Journal 

our  minds  that  it   could   not   be    so. 
Probably  a  foraging  party. 

Just  before  night  I  walked  up  to  Joe 
Perry's  to  know  if  they  had  heard  any 
thing  of  the  report.  He  was  just  start 
ing  off  to  join  the  company  [the  Home 
Guard],  being  one  of  them. 


NOVEMBER  17,  1864. 
Have  been  uneasy  all  day.  At  night 
some  of  the  neighbors  who  had  been  to 
town  called.  They  said  it  was  a  large 
force  moving  very  slowly.  What  shall 
I  do?  Where  go? 


NOVEMBER  18, 1864. 
Slept  very  little  last  night.     Went 
out  doors  several  times  and  could  see 
large  fires  like  burning  buildings.     Am 
17 


A  Woman's  Wartime  Journal 

I  not  in  the  hands  of  a  merciful  God 
who  has  promised  to  take  care  of  the 
widow  and  orphan? 

Sent  off  two  of  my  mules  in  the  night. 
Mr.  Ward  and  Frank  [a  slave]  took 
them  away  and  hid  them.  In  the  morn 
ing  took  a  barrel  of  salt,  which  had  cost 
me  two  hundred  dollars,  into  one  of  the 
black  women's  gardens,  put  a  paper 
over  it,  and  then  on  the  top  of  that 
leached  ashes.  Fixed  it  on  a  board  as  a 
leach  tub,  daubing  it  with  ashes  [the 
old-fashioned  way  of  making  lye  for 
soap].  Had  some  few  pieces  of  meat 
taken  from  my  smoke-house  carried  to 
the  Old  Place  [a  distant  part  of  the 
plantation]  and  hidden  under  some  fod 
der.  Bid  them  hide  the  wagon  and 
gear  and  then  go  on  plowing.  Went 
to  packing  up  mine  and  Sadai's  clothes. 
18 


A  Woman's  Wartime  Journal 

I    fear    that    we    shall    be    homeless. 

The  boys  came  back  and  wished  to 
hide  their  mules.  They  say  that  the 
Yankees  camped  at  Mr.  Gibson's  last 
night  and  are  taking  all  the  stock  in  the 
county.  Seeing  them  so  eager,  I  told 
them  to  do  as  they  pleased.  They  took 
them  off,  and  Elbert  [the  black  coach 
man]  took  his  forty  fattening  hogs  to 
the  Old  Place  Swamp  and  turned  them 
in. 

We  have  done  nothing  all  day — that 
is,  my  people  have  not.  I  made  a  pair 
of  pants  for  Jack  [a  slave] .  Sent  Nute 
fa  slave]  up  to  Mrs.  Perry's  on  an  er 
rand.  On  his  way  back,  he  said,  two 
Yankees  met  him  and  begged  him  to  go 
with  them.  They  asked  if  we  had  live 
stock,  and  came  up  the  road  as  far  as 
Mrs.  Laura  Perry's.  I  sat  for  an  hour 
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-A  Woman's  Wartime  Journal 

expecting  them,  but  they  must  have 
gone  back.  Oh,  how  I  trust  I  am  safe! 
Mr.  Ward  is  very  much  alarmed. 


NOVEMBER  19,  1864. 
Slept  in  my  clothes  last  night,  as  I 
heard  that  the  Yankees  went  to  neigh 
bor  Montgomery's  on  Thursday  night 
at  one  o'clock,  searched  his  house,  drank 
his  wine,  and  took  his  money  and  val 
uables.  As  we  were  not  disturbed,  I 
walked  after  breakfast,  with  Sadai,  up 
to  Mr.  Joe  Perry's,  my  nearest  neigh 
bor,  where  the  Yankees  were  yesterday. 
Saw  Mrs.  Laura  [Perry]  in  the  road 
surrounded  by  her  children,  seeming  to 
be  looking  for  some  one.  She  said  she 
was  looking  for  her  husband,  that  old 
Mrs.  Perry  had  just  sent  her  word  that 
the  Yankees  went  to  James  Perry's  the 
20 


A  Woman's  Wartime  Journal 


night  before,  plundered  his  house,  and 
drove  off  all  his  stock,  and  that  she  must 
drive  hers  into  the  old  fields.  Before 
we  we  were  done  talking,  up  came  Joe 
and  Jim  Perry  from  their  hiding-place. 
Jim  was  very  much  excited.  Happen 
ing  to  turn  and  look  behind,  as  we  stood 
there,  I  saw  some  blue-coats  coming 
down  the  hill.  Jim  immediately  raised 
his  gun,  swearing  he  would  kill  them 
anyhow. 

"No,  don't!"  said  I,  and  ran  home  as 
fast  as  I  could,  with  Sadai. 

I  could  hear  them  cry,  "Halt!  Halt!" 
and  their  guns  went  off  in  quick  suc 
cession.  Oh  God,  the  time  of  trial  has 
come! 

A  man  passed  on  his  way  to  Coving- 
ton.  I  halloed  to  him,  asking  him  if  he 
did  not  know  the  Yankees  were  coming. 

"No— are  they?" 
21 


A  Woman's  Wartime  Journal 

"Yes,"  said  I;  "they  are  not  three 
hundred  yards  from  here." 

"Sure  enough,"  said  he.  "Well,  I'll 
not  go.  I  don't  want  them  to  get  my 
horse."  And  although  within  hearing 
of  their  guns,  he  would  stop  and  look  for 
them.  Blissful  ignorance !  Not  know 
ing,  not  hearing,  he  has  not  suffered  the 
suspense,  the  fear,  that  I  have  for  the 
past  forty-eight  hours.  I  walked  to  the 
gate.  There  they  came  filing  up. 

I  hastened  back  to  my  frightened 
servants  and  told  them  that  they  had 
better  hide,  and  then  went  back  to  the 
gate  to  claim  protection  and  a  guard. 
But  like  demons  they  rush  in!  My 
yards  are  full.  To  my  smoke-house, 
my  dairy,  pantry,  kitchen,  and  cellar, 
like  famished  wolves  they  come,  break 
ing  locks  and  whatever  is  in  their  way. 
The  thousand  pounds  of  meat  in  my 
22 


A  Woman's  Wartime  Journal 

smoke-house  is  gone  in  a  twinkling,  my 
flour,  my  meat,  my  lard,  butter,  eggs, 
pickles  of  various  kinds — both  in  vine 
gar  and  brine — wine,  jars,  and  jugs  are 
all  gone.  My  eighteen  fat  turkeys,  my 
hens,  chickens,  and  fowls,  my  young 
pigs,  are  shot  down  in  my  yard  and 
hunted  as  if  they  were  rebels  themselves. 
Utterly  powerless  I  ran  out  and  ap 
pealed  to  the  guard. 

"I  cannot  help  you,  Madam ;  it  is  or 
ders." 

As  I  stood  there,  from  my  lot  I  saw 
driven,  first,  old  Dutch,  my  dear  old 
buggy  horse,  who  has  carried  my  be 
loved  husband  so  many  miles,  and  who 
would  so  quietly  wait  at  the  block  for 
him  to  mount  and  dismount,  and  who 
at  last  drew  him  to  his  grave;  then  came 
old  Mary,  my  brood  mare,  who  for  years 
had  been  too  old  and  stiff  for  work, 
23 


A  Woman's  Wartime  Journal 

with  her  three-year-old  colt,  my  two- 
year-old  mule,  and  her  last  little  baby 
colt.  There  they  go!  There  go  my 
mules,  my  sheep,  and,  worse  than  all, 
my  boys  [slaves] ! 

Alas!  little  did  I  think  while  trying 
to  save  my  house  from  plunder  and  fire 
that  they  were  forcing  my  boys  from 
home  at  the  point  of  the  bayonet.  One, 
Newton,  jumped  into  bed  in  his  cabin, 
and  declared  himself  sick.  Another 
crawled  under  the  floor, — a  lame  boy  he 
was, — but  they  pulled  him  out,  placed 
him  on  a  horse,  and  drove  him  off. 
Mid,  poor  Mid!  The  last  I  saw  of  him, 
a  man  had  him  going  around  the  gar 
den,  looking,  as  I  thought,  for  my  sheep, 
as  he  was  my  shepherd.  Jack  came 
crying  to  me,  the  big  tears  coursing 
down  his  cheeks,  saying  they  were  mak 
ing  him  go.  I  said: 
24 


A  Woman's  Wartime  Journal 

"Stay  in  my  room." 

But  a  man  followed  in,  cursing  him 
and  threatening  to  shoot  him  if  he  did 
not  go;  so  poor  Jack  had  to  yield. 
James  Arnold,  in  trying  to  escape  from 
a  back  window,  was  captured  and 
marched  off.  Henry,  too,  was  taken; 
I  know  not  how  or  when,  but  probably 
when  he  and  Bob  went  after  the  mules. 
I  had  not  believed  they  would  force 
from  their  homes  the  poor,  doomed  ne 
groes,  but  such  has  been  the  fact  here, 
cursing  them  and  saying  that  "Jeff 
Davis  wanted  to  put  them  in  his  army, 
but  that  they  should  not  fight  for  him, 
but  for  the  Union."  No!  Indeed  no! 
They  are  not  friends  to  the  slave.  We 
have  never  made  the  poor,  cowardly 
negro  fight,  and  it  is  strange,  passing 
strange,  that  the  all-powerful  Yankee 
nation  with  the  whole  world  to  back 
25 


A  Woman's  Wartime  Journal 

them,  their  ports  open,  their  armies 
filled  with  soldiers  from  all  nations, 
should  at  last  take  the  poor  negro  to 
help  them  out  against  this  little  Confed 
eracy  which  was  to  have  been  brought 
back  into  the  Union  in  sixty  days' 
time! 

My  poor  boys!  My  poor  boys! 
What  unknown  trials  are  before  you! 
How  you  have  clung  to  your  mistress 
and  assisted  her  in  every  way  you 
knew. 

Never  have  I  corrected  them;  a 
word  was  sufficient.  Never  have  they 
known  want  of  any  kind.  Their  par 
ents  are  with  me,  and  how  sadly  they 
lament  the  loss  of  their  boys.  Their 
cabins  are  rifled  of  every  valuable,  the 
soldiers  swearing  that  their  Sunday 
clothes  were  the  white  people's,  and  that 
they  never  had  money  to  get  such  things 
26 


A  Woman's  Wartime  Journal 


as  they  had.  Poor  Frank's  chest  was 
broken  open,  his  money  and  tobacco 
taken.  He  has  always  been  a  money- 
making  and  saving  boy;  not  infre 
quently  has  his  crop  brought  him  five 
hundred  dollars  and  more.  All  of  his 
clothes  and  Rachel's  clothes,  which  dear 
Lou  gave  her  before  her  death  and 
which  she  had  packed  away,  were  stolen 
from  her.  Ovens,  skillets,  coffee-mills, 
of  which  we  had  three,  coffee-pots — not 
one  have  I  left.  Sifters  all  gone! 

Seeing  that  the  soldiers  could  not  be 
restrained,  the  guard  ordered  me  to 
have  their  [of  the  negroes]  remaining 
possessions  brought  into  my  house, 
which  I  did,  and  they  all,  poor  things, 
huddled  together  in  my  room,  fearing 
every  movement  that  the  house  would 
be  burned. 

A  Captain  Webber  from  Illinois 
27 


A  Woman's  Wartime  Journal 

came  into  my  house.  Of  him  I  claimed 
protection  from  the  vandals  who  were 
forcing  themselves  into  my  room.  He 
said  that  he  knew  my  brother  Orring- 
ton  [the  late  Orrington  Lunt,  a  well- 
known  early  settler  of  Chicago].  At 
that  name  I  could  not  restrain  my  feel 
ings,  but,  bursting  into  tears,  implored 
him  to  see  my  brother  and  let  him  know 
my  destitution.  I  saw  nothing  before 
me  but  starvation.  He  promised  to  do 
this,  and  comforted  me  with  the  assur 
ance  that  my  dwelling-house  would  not 
be  burned,  though  my  out-buildings 
might.  Poor  little  Sadai  went  crying 
to  him  as  to  a  friend  and  told  him  that 
they  had  taken  her  doll,  Nancy.  He 
begged  her  to  come  and  see  him,  and 
he  would  give  her  a  fine  waxen  one. 
[The  doll  was  found  later  in  the  yard 
of  a  neighbor,  where  a  soldier  had 
28 


A  Woman's  Wartime  Journal 

thrown  it,  and  was  returned  to  the  little 
girl.  Her  children  later  played  with 
it,  and  it  is  now  the  plaything  of  her 
granddaughter.] 

He  felt  for  me,  and  I  give  him  and 
several  others  the  character  of  gentle 
men.  I  don't  believe  they  would  have 
molested  women  and  children  had  they 
had  their  own  way.  He  seemed  sur 
prised  that  I  had  not  laid  away  in  my 
house,  flour  and  other  provisions.  I  did 
not  suppose  I  could  secure  them  there, 
more  than  where  I  usually  kept  them, 
for  in  last  summer's  raid  houses  were 
thoroughly  searched.  In  parting  with 
him,  I  parted  as  with  a  friend. 

Sherman  himself  and  a  greater  por 
tion  of  his  army  passed  my  house  that 
day.  All  day,  as  the  sad  moments 
rolled  on,  were  they  passing  not  only  in 
front  of  my  house,  but  from  behind; 
29 


A  Woman's  Wartime  Journal 


they  tore  down  my  garden  palings,  made 
a  road  through  my  back-yard  and  lot 
field,  driving  their  stock  and  riding 
through,  tearing  down  my  fences  and 
desolating  my  home  —  wantonly  doing 
it  when  there  was  no  necessity  for  it. 

Such  a  day,  if  I  live  to  the  age  of 
Methuselah,  may  God  spare  me  from 
ever  seeing  again! 

As  night  drew  its  sable  curtains 
around  us,  the  heavens  from  every  point 
were  lit  up  with  flames  from  burning 
buildings.  Dinnerless  and  supperless 
as  we  were,  it  was  nothing  in  compari 
son  with  the  fear  of  being  driven  out 
homeless  to  the  dreary  woods.  Nothing 
to  eat !  I  could  give  my  guard  no  sup 
per,  so  he  left  us.  I  appealed  to  an 
other,  asking  him  if  he  had  wife,  mother, 
or  sister,  and  how  he  should  feel  were 
they  in  my  situation.  A  colonel  from 
30 


A  Woman  s  Wartime  Journal 


Vermont  left  me  two  men,  but  they  were 
Dutch,  and  I  could  not  understand  one 
word  they  said. 

My  Heavenly  Father  alone  saved  me 
from  the  destructive  fire.  My  carriage- 
house  had  in  it  eight  bales  of  cotton,  with 
my  carriage,  buggy,  and  harness.  On 
top  of  the  cotton  were  some  carded  cot 
ton  rolls,  a  hundred  pounds  or  more. 
These  were  thrown  out  of  the  blanket  in 
which  they  were,  and  a  large  twist  of 
the  rolls  taken  and  set  on  fire,  and 
thrown  into  the  boat  of  my  carriage, 
which  was  close  up  to  the  cotton  bales. 
Thanks  to  my  God,  the  cotton  only 
burned  over,  and  then  went  out.  Shall 
I  ever  forget  the  deliverance? 

To-night,  when  the  greater  part  of 

the  army  had  passed,  it  came  up  very 

windy  and  cold.     My  room  was  full, 

nearly,  with  the  negroes  and  their  bed- 

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A  Woman's  Wartime  Journal 

ding.  They  were  afraid  to  go  out,  for 
my  women  could  not  step  out  of  the 
door  without  an  insult  from  the  Yankee 
soldiers.  They  lay  down  on  the  floor; 
Sadai  got  down  and  under  the  same 
cover  with  Sally,  while  I  sat  up  all  night, 
watching  every  moment  for  the  flames 
to  burst  out  from  some  of  my  buildings. 
The  two  guards  came  into  my  room  and 
laid  themselves  by  my  fire  for  the  night. 
I  could  not  close  my  eyes,  but  kept  walk 
ing  to  and  fro,  watching  the  fires  in  the 
distance  and  dreading  the  approaching 
day,  which,  I  feared,  as  they  had  not  all 
passed,  would  be  but  a  continuation  of 
horrors. 


NOVEMBER  20,  1864. 
This  is  the  blessed  Sabbath,  the  day 
upon  which  He  who  came  to  bring  peace 
32 


A  Woman's  Wartime  Journal 

and  good  will  upon  earth  rose  from  His 
tomb  and  ascended  to  intercede  for  us 
poor  fallen  creatures.  But  how  unlike 
this  day  to  any  that  have  preceded  it  in 
my  once  quiet  home.  I  had  watched  all 
night,  and  the  dawn  found  me  watching 
for  the  moving  of  the  soldiery  that  was 
encamped  about  us.  Oh,  how  I  dreaded 
those  that  were  to  pass,  as  I  supposed 
they  would  straggle  and  complete  the 
ruin  that  the  others  had  commenced,  for 
I  had  been  repeatedly  told  that  they 
would  burn  everything  as  they  passed. 

Some  of  my  women  had  gathered  up 
a  chicken  that  the  soldiers  shot  yester 
day,  and  they  cooked  it  with  some  yams 
for  our  breakfast,  the  guard  complain 
ing  that  we  gave  them  no  supper. 
They  gave  us  some  coffee,  which  I  had 
to  make  in  a  tea-kettle,  as  every  coffee 
pot  is  taken  off.  The  rear-guard  was 
33 


A  Woman's  Wartime  Journal 

commanded  by  Colonel  Carlow,  who 
changed  our  guard,  leaving  us  one  sol 
dier  while  they  were  passing.  They 
marched  directly  on,  scarcely  breaking 
ranks.  Once  a  bucket  of  water  was 
called  for,  but  they  drank  without  com 
ing  in. 

About  ten  o'clock  they  had  all  passed 
save  one,  who  came  in  and  wanted  coffee 
made,  which  was  done,  and  he,  too,  went 
on.  A  few  minutes  elapsed,  and  two 
couriers  riding  rapidly  passed  back. 
Then,  presently,  more  soldiers  came  by, 
and  this  ended  the  passing  of  Sherman's 
army  by  my  place,  leaving  me  poorer 
by  thirty  thousand  dollars  than  I  was 
yesterday  morning.  And  a  much 
stronger  Rebel ! 

After  the  excitement  was  a  little  over, 
I  went  up  to  Mrs.  Laura's  to  sympathize 
with  her,  for  I  had  no  doubt  but  that  her 
34 


A  Woman's  Wartime  Journal 


husband  was  hanged.  She  thought  so, 
and  we  could  see  no  way  for  his  escape. 
We  all  took  a  good  cry  together. 
While  there,  I  saw  smoke  looming  up  in 
the  direction  of  my  home,  and  thought 
surely  the  fiends  had  done  their  work  ere 
they  left.  I  ran  as  fast  as  I  could,  but 
soon  saw  that  the  fire  was  below  my 
home.  It  proved  to  be  the  gin  house 
[cotton  gin]  belonging  to  Colonel  Pitts. 

My  boys  have  not  come  home.  I 
fear  they  cannot  get  away  from  the  sol 
diers.  Two  of  my  cows  came  up  this 
morning,  but  \vere  driven  off  again  by 
the  Yankees. 

I  feel  so  thankful  that  I  have  not  been 
burned  out  that  I  have  tried  to  spend  the 
remainder  of  the  day  as  the  Sabbath 
ought  to  be  spent.  Ate  dinner  out  of 
the  oven  in  Julia's  [the  cook's]  house, 
some  stew,  no  bread.  She  is  boiling 
35 


A  Woman's  Wartime  Journal 

some  corn.  My  poor  servants  feel  so 
badly  at  losing  what  they  have  worked 
for;  meat,  the  hog  meat  that  they  love 
better  than  anything  else,  is  all  gone. 


NOVEMBER  21,  1864. 
We  had  the  table  laid  this  morning, 
but  no  bread  or  butter  or  milk.  What 
a  prospect  for  delicacies !  My  house  is 
a  perfect  fright.  I  had  brought  in  Sat 
urday  night  some  thirty  bushels  of  pota 
toes  and  ten  or  fifteen  bushels  of  wheat 
poured  down  on  the  carpet  in  the  ell. 
Then  the  few  gallons  of  syrup  saved  was 
daubed  all  about.  The  backbone  of  a 
hog  that  I  had  killed  on  Friday,  and 
which  the  Yankees  did  not  take  when 
they  cleaned  out  my  smokehouse,  I 
found  and  hid  under  my  bed,  and  this 
is  all  the  meat  I  have. 
36 


A  Woman's  Wartime  Journal 


Major  Lee  came  down  this  evening, 
having  heard  that  I  was  burned  out,  to 
proffer  me  a  home.  Mr.  Dorsett  was 
with  him.  The  army  lost  some  of  their 
beeves  in  passing.  I  sent  to-day  and 
had  some  driven  into  my  lot,  and  then 
sent  to  Judge  Glass  to  come  over  and 
get  some.  Had  two  killed.  Some  of 
Wheeler's  men  came  in,  and  I  asked 
them  to  shoot  the  cattle,  which  they  did. 

About  ten  o'clock  this  morning  Mr. 
Joe  Perry  [Mrs.  Laura's  husband] 
called.  I  was  so  glad  to  see  him  that  I 
could  scarcely  forbear  embracing  him. 
I  could  not  keep  from  crying,  for  I  was 
sure  the  Yankees  had  executed  him,  and 
I  felt  so  much  for  his  poor  wife.  The 
soldiers  told  me  repeatedly  Saturday 
that  they  had  hung  him  and  his  brother 
James  and  George  Guise.  They  had  a 
narrow  escape,  however,  and  only  got 
37 


A  Woman's  Wartime  Journal 

away  by  knowing  the  country  so  much 
better  than  the  soldiers  did.  They  lay 
out  until  this  morning.  How  rejoiced  I 
am  for  his  family!  All  of  his  negroes 
are  gone,  save  one  man  that  had  a  wife 
here  at  my  plantation.  They  are  very 
strong  Secesh  [Secessionists].  When 
the  army  first  came  along  they  offered 
a  guard  for  the  house,  but  Mrs.  Laura 
told  them  she  was  guarded  by  a  Higher 
Power,  and  did  not  thank  them  to  do  it. 
She  says  that  she  could  think  of  nothing 
else  all  day  when  the  army  was  passing 
but  of  the  devil  and  his  hosts.  She  had, 
however,  to  call  for  a  guard  before  night 
or  the  soldiers  would  have  taken  every 
thing  she  had. 

*     *     * 

NOVEMBER  22,  1864. 
After  breakfast  this  morning  I  went 
over  to  my  grave-yard  to  see  what  had 
38 


A  Woman's  Wartime  Journal 

befallen  that.  To  my  joy,  I  found  it 
had  not  been  disturbed.  As  I  stood  by 
my  dead,  I  felt  rejoiced  that  they  were 
at  rest.  Never  have  I  felt  so  perfectly 
reconciled  to  the  death  of  my  husband 
as  I  do  to-day,  while  looking  upon  the 
ruin  of  his  lifelong  labor.  How  it 
would  have  grieved  him  to  see  such  de 
struction!  Yes,  theirs  is  the  lot  to  be 
envied.  At  rest,  rest  from  care,  rest 
from  heartaches,  from  trouble.  .  .  . 

Found  one  of  my  large  hogs  killed 
just  outside  the  grave-yard. 

Walked  down  to  the  swamp,  looking 
for  the  wagon  and  gear  that  Henry  hid 
before  he  was  taken  off.  Found  some 
of  my  sheep;  came  home  very  much 
wearied,  having  walked  over  four  miles. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Rockmore  called. 
Major  Lee  came  down  again  after  some 
cattle,  and  while  he  was  here  the  alarm 
39 


A  Woman's  Wartime  Journal 

was  given  that  more  Yankees  were  com 
ing.  I  was  terribly  alarmed  and  packed 
my  trunks  with  clothing,  feeling  assured 
that  we  should  be  burned  out  now. 
Major  Lee  swore  that  he  would  shoot, 
which  frightened  me,  for  he  was  intoxi 
cated  enough  to  make  him  ambitious. 
He  rode  off  in  the  direction  whence  it 
was  said  they  were  coming.  Soon  after, 
however,  he  returned,  saying  it  was  a 
false  alarm,  that  it  was  some  of  our  own 
men.  Oh,  dear!  Are  we  to  be  always 
living  in  fear  and  dread!  Oh,  the  hor 
rors,  the  horrors  of  war! 

*     *     * 

NOVEMBER  26,  1864. 
A  very  cold  morning.     Elbert  [the 
negro  coachman]  has  to  go  to  mill  this 
morning,  and  I  shall  go  with  him,  fear 
ing  that,  if  he  is  alone,  my  mule  may  be 
40 


A  Woman's  Wartime  Journal 

taken  from  him,  for  there  are  still  many 
straggling  soldiers  about.  Mounted  in 
the  little  wagon,  I  went,  carrying  wheat 
not  only  for  myself,  but  for  my  neigh 
bors.  Never  did  I  think  I  would  have 
to  go  to  mill!  Such  are  the  changes 
that  come  to  us!  History  tells  us  of 
some  illustrious  examples  of  this  kind. 
Got  home  just  at  night. 

Mr.  Kennedy  stopped  all  night  with 
us.  He  has  been  refugeeing  on  his  way 
home.  Every  one  we  meet  gives  us 
painful  accounts  of  the  desolation 
caused  by  the  enemy.  Each  one  has  to 
tell  his  or  her  own  experience,  and  fel 
low-suffering  makes  us  all  equal  and 
makes  us  all  feel  interested  in  one  an 
other. 


41 


A  Woman's  Wartime  Journal 

DECEMBER  22, 1864. 

Tuesday,  the  nineteenth  of  the  month, 
I  attended  Floyd  Glass's  wedding. 
She  was  married  in  the  morning  to 
Lieutenant  Doroughty.  She  expected 
to  have  been  married  the  week  after  the 
Yankees  came,  but  her  groom  was  not 
able  to  get  here.  Some  of  the  Yankees 
found  out  in  some  way  that  she  was  to 
have  been  married,  and  annoyed  her 
considerably  by  telling  her  that  they 
had  taken  her  sweetheart  prisoner;  that 
when  he  got  off  the  train  at  the  Circle 
they  took  him  and,  some  said,  shot  him. 

The  Yankees  found  Mrs.  Glass's 
china  and  glassware  that  she  had  buried 
in  a  box,  broke  it  all  up,  and  then  sent 
her  word  that  she  would  set  no  more  fine 
tables.  They  also  got  Mrs.  Perry's  sil 
ver. 


42 


A  Woman's  Wartime  Journal 


DECEMBER  23,  1864. 

Just  before  night  Mrs.  Robert  Rake- 
straw  and  Miss  Mary  drove  up  to  spend 
the  night  with  me.  They  had  started 
down  into  Jasper  County,  hoping  to 
get  back  their  buggy,  having  heard  that 
several  buggies  were  left  at  Mr.  Whit- 
field's  by  the  Yankees. 

Nothing  new!  It  is  confidently  be 
lieved  that  Savannah  has  been  evacu 
ated.  I  hear  nothing  from  my  boys. 
Poor  fellows,  how  I  miss  them! 


DECEMBER  24,  1864. 
This  has  usually  been  a  very  busy  day 
with  me,  preparing  for  Christmas  not 
only  for  my  own  tables,  but  for  gifts 
for  my  servants.     Now  how  changed! 
No  confectionery,  cakes,  or  pies  can  I 
have.     We  are  all  sad;  no  loud,  jovial 
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A  Woman's  Wartime  Journal 


laugh  from  our  boys  is  heard.  Christ 
mas  Eve,  which  has  ever  been  gaily  cele 
brated  here,  which  has  witnessed  the 
popping  of  fire-crackers  [the  Southern 
custom  of  celebrating  Christmas  with 
fireworks]  and  the  hanging  up  of  stock 
ings,  is  an  occasion  now  of  sadness  and 
gloom.  I  have  nothing  even  to  put  in 
Sadai's  stocking,  which  hangs  so  invit 
ingly  for  Santa  Claus.  How  dis 
appointed  she  will  be. in  the  morning, 
though  I  have  explainei-io  her  why  he 
cannot  come.  Poor  children!  Why 
must  the  innocent  suffer  with  the  guilty? 

*     *     * 

DECEMBER  25,  1864. 
Sadai  jumped  out  of  bed  very  early 
this  morning  to  feel  in  her  stocking. 
She  could  not  believe  but  that  there 
would   be    something   in   it.     Finding 
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A  Woman's  Wartime  Journal 


nothing,  she  crept  back  into  bed,  pulled 
the  cover  over  her  face,  and  I  soon  heard 
her  sobbing.  The  little  negroes  all 
came  in:  "Christmas  gift,  mist'ess! 
Christmas  gift,  mist'ess!" 

I  pulled  the  cover  over  my  face  and 
was  soon  mingling  my  tears  with 
Sadai's. 


[The  records  in  the  journal  for  the 
year  1865  are  full  of  details  of  farm 
work  and  reflections  on  the  war.  For 
example]  : 

JANUARY  30,  1865. 
As  the  moon  has  changed,  Julia  [the 
cook]  has  gone  to  making  soap  again. 
She  is  a  strong  believer  in  the  moon,  and 
never  undertakes  to  boil  her  soap  on  the 
wane  of  the  moon.     "It  won't  thicken, 
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A  Woman's  Wartime  Journal 

mist'ess — see  if  it  does !"  She  says,  too, 
we  must  commence  gardening  this 
moon.  I  have  felt  a  strong  desire  to 
day  that  my  captured  boys  might  come 
back.  Oh,  how  thankful  I  should  feel 
to  see  them  once  more  safe  at  home ! 


APRIL  29,  1865. 

Boys  plowing  in  old  house  field.  We 
are  needing  rain.  Everything  looks 
pleasant,  but  the  state  of  our  country  is 
very  gloomy.  \  General  Lee  has  sur 
rendered  to  the  victorious  Grant. 
Well,  if  it  will  only  hasten  the  conclu 
sion  of  this  war,  I  am  satisfied.  There 
has  been  something  very  strange  in  the 
whole  affair  to  me,  and  I  can  attribute  it 
to  nothing  but  the  hand  of  Providence 
working  out  some  problem  that  has  not 
yet  been  revealed  to  us  poor,  erring 
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A  Woman's  Wartime  Journal 


mortals.  At  the  beginning  of  the  strug 
gle  the  minds  of  men,  their  wills,  their 
self-control,  seemed  to  be  all  taken  from 
them  in  a  passionate  antagonism  to  the 
coming-in  President,  Abraham  Lincoln. 
Our  leaders,  to  whom  the  people 
looked  for  wisdom,  led  us  into  this,  per 
haps  the  greatest  error  of  the  age. 
"We  will  not  have  this  man  to  rule  over 
us!"  was  their  cry.  For  years  it  has 
been  stirring  in  the  hearts  of  Southern 
politicians  that  the  North  was  enriched 
and  built  up  by  Southern  labor  and 
wealth.  Men's  pockets  were  always 
appealed  to  and  appealed  to  so  con 
stantly  that  an  antagonism  was  excited 
which  it  has  been  impossible  to  allay. 
They  did  not  believe  that  the  North 
would  fight.  Said  Robert  Toombes: 
"I  will  drink  every  drop  of  blood  they 
will  shed."  Oh,  blinded  men!  Rivers 
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A  Woman's  Wartime  Journal 

deep  and  strong  have  been  shed,  and 
where  are  we  now? — a  ruined,  sub 
jugated  people!  What  will  be  our  fu 
ture?  is  the  question  which  now  rests 
heavily  upon  the  hearts  of  all. 

This  has  been  a  month  never  to  be 
forgotten.  Two  armies  have  surren 
dered.  The  President  of  the  United 
States  has  been  assassinated,  Richmond 
evacuated,  and  Davis,  President  of  the 
Confederacy,  put  to  grief,  to  flight. 
The  old  flag  has  been  raised  again  upon 
Sumter  and  an  armistice  accepted. 

*     «     * 

[May  is  full  of  stories  of  Confeder 
ate  soldiers  bitterly  returning  to  their 
homes,  and  of  apprehension  of  the  Yan 
kee  troops  encamped  in  the  neighbor 
hood.] 

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A  Woman's  Wartime  Journal 

MAY  7,  1865. 

Sunday  evening.  Had  company 
every  day  last  week,  paroled  soldiers  re 
turning  to  their  homes.  Last  night  a 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Adams,  refugees  from  Al 
berta,  who  have  been  spending  the  time 
in  Eatonton,  called  to  stay  all  night.  I 
felt  as  though  I  could  not  take  them  in. 
I  had  purposely  kept  in  the  back  part 
of  the  house  all  the  evening  with  my 
blinds  down  and  door  locked,  to  keep 
from  being  troubled  by  soldiers,  and  had 
just  gone  into  my  room  with  a  light, 
when  some  one  knocked  at  the  door,  and 
wanted  shelter  for  himself  and  family. 
I  could  not  turn  away  women  and  chil 
dren,  so  I  took  them  in.  Found  them 
very  pleasant  people.  They  had  Gov 
ernment  wagons  along,  and  he  had  them 
guarded  all  night.  I  fear  there  was 
something  in  them  which  had  been  sur- 
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A  Woman's  Wartime  Journal 

rendered,  and  belonged  to  the  United 
States,  but  he  assured  me  that  with  the 
exception  of  the  mules  and  wagon,  all 
belonged  to  himself.  He  said  that  he 
left  Jeff  Davis  at  Washington  in  this 
State,  on  Thursday  morning  last.  His 
enemies  are  in  close  pursuit  of  him,  of 
fering  a  hundred  thousand  reward  to 
his  captors. 


MAY  14,  1865. 

Mr.  Knowles,  our  circuit  preacher, 
came.  I  like  him.  We  agree  upon  a 
good  many  contested  topics.  He  loves 
the  old  flag  as  well  as  myself  and  would 
be  glad  to  see  it  floating  where  it  ever 
has. 

I  had  a  long  conversation  with  my 
man  Elbert  to-day  about  freedom,  and 
told  him  I  was  perfectly  willing,  but 
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A  Woman's  Wartime  Journal 


wanted  direction.  He  says  the  Yan 
kees  told  Major  Lee's  servants  they 
were  all  free,  but  they  had  better  re 
main  where  they  were  until  it  was  all 
settled,  as  it  would  be  in  a  month's  time. 
We  heard  so  many  conflicting  rumors 
we  know  not  what  to  do,  but  are  willing 
to  carry  out  the  orders  when  we  know 

them. 

*     *     * 

MAY  29,  1865. 

Dr.  Williams,  from  Social  Circle, 
came  this  morning  to  trade  me  a  horse. 
He  tells  me  the  people  below  are  free 
ing  their  servants  and  allowing  those 
to  stay  with  them  that  will  go  on  with 
their  work  and  obey  as  usual.  What 
I  shall  do  with  mine  is  a  question  that 
troubles  me  day  and  night.  It  is  my 
last  thought  at  night  and  the  first  in  the 
morning.  I  told  them  several  days  ago 
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A  Woman's  Wartime  Journal 

they  were  free  to  do  as  they  liked.  But 
it  is  my  duty  to  make  some  provisions 
for  them.  I  thank  God  that  they  are 
freed,  and  yet  what  can  I  do  with  them? 
They  are  old  and  young,  not  profitable 
to  hire.  What  provision  can  I  make  ? 


* 


[The  last  two  entries  of  the  year  1865, 
however,  supply  the  journal  with  the 
much-to-be-desired  happy  ending]  : 

DECEMBER  24,  1865. 
It  has  been  many  months  since  I 
wrote  in  this  journal,  and  many  things 
of  interest  have  occurred.     But  above 
all  I  give  thanks  to  God  for  His  good 
ness  in  preserving  my  life  and  so  much 
of  my  property  for  me.     My  freedmen 
have  been  with  me  and  have  worked  for 
one-sixth  of  my  crop. 
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A  Woman's  Wartime  Journal 

This  is  a  very  rainy,  unpleasant  day. 
How  many  poor  freedmen  are  suffer 
ing!  Thousands  of  them  must  be  ex 
posed  to  the  pitiless  rain!  Oh,  that 
everybody  would  do  right,  and  there 
would  not  be  so  much  suffering  in  the 
world !  Sadai  and  I  are  all  alone  in  the 
house.  We  have  been  reading,  talking, 
and  thus  spending  the  hours  until  she 
went  to  bed,  that  I  might  play  Santa 
Claus.  Her  stocking  hangs  invitingly 
in  the  corner.  Happy  child  and  child 
hood,  that  can  be  so  easily  made  con 
tent! 


DECEMBER  25,  1865. 
Sadai  woke  very  early  and  crept  out 
of  bed  to  her  stocking.     Seeing  it  well 
filled  she  soon  had  a  light  and  eight 
little  negroes  around  her,  gazing  upon 
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A  Woman's  Wartime  'Journal 


the  treasures.  Everything  opened  that 
could  be  divided  was  shared  with  them. 
\  'T  is  the  last  Christmas,  probably,  that 
we  shall  be  together,  freedmen!  Now 
you  will,  I  trust,  have  your  own  homes, 
and  be  joyful  under  your  own  vine  and 
fig  tree,  with  none  to  molest  or  make 
afraid. 


THE  END 


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